


Kitchen Sink

by Arati_Mhevet



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, One Big Happy Family, notes from the Cardassian underground
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28213587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arati_Mhevet/pseuds/Arati_Mhevet
Summary: When families go nuclear. Garak and Mila during 'What You Leave Behind'.
Relationships: Elim Garak & Enabran Tain, Elim Garak & Mila Garak, Mila Garak/Enabran Tain
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Kitchen Sink

**Kitchen Sink**

When families go nuclear. During ‘What We Leave Behind’.

* * *

Mila was sitting at the kitchen table when her son came up from the cellar, carrying the tray piled with empty dishes. More washing up. She stood up, wearily, and pointed at the sink. “Make yourself useful,” she said.

“I can put them in the cleaner—”

“Do it properly,” she said, “or don’t do it at all.”

He frowned, but obeyed. He ran the tap, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work. She stood beside him with the cloth, taking each cup and plate as he passed them to her, drying them hard, setting them down on the side with a clatter.

After a while, he said, “You’re angry with me.”

“Why should I be angry with you?”

“We can go, if you prefer—”

“And where would you go, hmm?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Nowhere else to go, is there?” she said. “No, stay here. Run your little revolution from the cellar, and when you’re done rushing round the city to these meetings or whatever it is you’re up to, come back here and there’ll be supper on the table, and somewhere to sleep before you get up and do it all again.”

He sighed, and bowed his head, and carried on with his task. She looked into the sink. Too full.

“Oh,” she tutted, “look at the water you’ve wasted—”

“There’s hardly any in there—”

“It’s still water—”

“If you let me use the cleaner, I wouldn’t be using _any_ water—”

“That thing.” She sniffed. “That hasn’t worked in years.”

“Mila,” he said, exasperated. “I can _fix_ it for you. Now. I can go and fix it, right now—”

“I’ve managed without for years,” she said. “I’ll keep managing.”

“You don’t have to manage—”

“No?”

“No.”

“Hasn’t seemed that way where I’ve been sitting.”

“Mila…”

“The lights in the master bedroom are broken too. I can’t climb up and do that, not any longer. And as for the garden—”

He stopped work. He put his hands down flat on each side of the sink. “Mila, this isn’t my fault. None of this is my fault.”

“Well, no, I don’t suppose even you could start a war with the Dominion single-handedly—”

“Not single-handedly, no.” 

“But somehow I’ve been here alone all this time—”

“It’s _not_ my fault that I haven’t been—” He cut himself short. He drummed his fingertips against the worktop.

“Go on. Spit it out.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“No, no! Say it. Say your piece. You’ve been dying to say your piece since you turned up here with that pair in tow. After years.”

He gave her a look so vicious his father would have been proud. Tain’s son, not hers. The killer. What would he have done, she wondered, if ordered to kill her? 

“Very well,” he breathed. “I’ll say what I have to say. It’s not my fault that I haven’t been here - for _years_.”

“No?”

“No.”

“The trouble with you, Elim—”

“Oh, this should be good.”

“The trouble with you is that it was _never_ your fault.”

“That’s it?" He was laughing at her. Laughing, at her. "That’s the best you’ve got?”

“You were like this as a boy. Always some excuse—”

“Oh _please_ …”

“You’ve not changed. He always said, you know, that you’d never change. That you couldn’t change—”

“Oh, he always said that, did he?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Well, he’s dead and I’m not. So who cares what he said?”

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He gave her a cruel look, taunting. His, not hers. “Go on,” he said. “Give me one good reason why not.”

“He… he gave us a home when he didn’t have to.”

“Oh, so kind! So generous!”

“Elim—”

“A _home_? He threw me out, Mila! Like trash! He used me up and tossed me aside—”

“You made _choices_ —”

“I did all that he asked of me! More! And it was _never_ enough!”

“You owe everything to him—”

“No, Mila. No. He owed everything to _me_.”

“Oh, is that right? You were the brains of the operation, were you? Is that how you wound up on Terok Nor?”

“Oh, Terok Nor…” He looked at her bitterly. “You know, I had _years_ there to sit and look back. Nothing else to do in that benighted place. Every moment. Every scheme, every strategy, every brilliant move. And you know what, Mila? It was _always_ my initiative. Always _my_ thinking, _my_ planning. Do you think, if I’d been there from the start, that mission to the Gamma Quadrant would have failed? Do you think we’d be here, now, in this state? Do you think _Cardassia_ would be here, now, in this state? He threw me out and we’ll all suffer as a result—”

“Your problem always was an over-inflated sense of your own worth—”

“No, my problem was I believed you both for years. I believed everything you said to me. That I was no good. That I was lucky to have the little I got. I was his _son_ , Mila! I deserved better!”

“ _You_ deserved better?”

“Yes, I did—”

“You have no idea what it was like,” she said, shaking her head. “Living with him—”

“I was here too—”

“You were a _child_ —”

“That’s right—”

“You didn’t see _half_ of what went on—”

“I saw more than enough—”

“I protected you as best I could—”

“Well, mother,” he spat back, “you did a _terrible_ job!”

She sobbed – once, hard – and swallowed that down with the rest. She wrung at the cloth. His hand went up to cover his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Mila, I’m so sorry…”

Wide-eyed, she looked at him. Her son; her resourceful, irrepressible son. Here, now, somehow. Still, improbably, alive – but blighted in some way that no nurturing of hers could ever heal. There was no mending this, she thought, no cure, no treatment. She clutched the cloth to her and began, helplessly, to cry.

“ _Sasi,_ don’t…. I’m sorry…” His hands were up, reaching for her, stopping just short of touching her. Flexing into fists and out again. He always did that when he was upset. Always had. “Please, forgive me… Don’t cry, _sasi_ , please…”

He got her into a chair, fussed around her. Made rokassa juice. He knew how much she loved rokassa juice. He knew, too, how much Enabran disapproved.

_So vulgar, Mila. Well, I suppose you can take the girl out of the gutter…_

Soon they were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, cups in front of both of them, steam curling upwards. She took a sip. He’d made it perfectly. He always made it perfectly.

He was watching her every move. Watched her lift the cup, and sip; watched her nod her appreciation; watched her put the cup back down and wrap her hands around it.

“Mila,” he said, tentatively. “I’m home now.”

“I know.”

“This… All this… It won’t last forever. The end’s coming.”

 _Yes,_ she thought, _that’s what frightens me_.

“I’ll survive this. I promise. I always do, somehow, don’t I? Yes?”

“Yes, you do.”

“We’ll be here again, together, afterwards? Yes? I’ll look after you.”

“I’d like that.”

“And…” His voice fell to a whisper, as if what was being said was almost unsayable. “He’s gone _, sasi_. He’s gone for good. I saw him die… He’s gone and he’s never coming back…”

She breathed, deeply. Caught the scent of the drink he’d made for her. She reached out across the table, and their hands met, and clasped, and held on tight. 

“I love you, _sasi_ ,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I know, _peti_ ,” she said, and stroked his hand. “I know.”

* * *

_21 st December 2020_

**Author's Note:**

> The story continues directly in [Cleaning Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237734).
> 
> The title is an allusion to [kitchen sink drama](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitchen_sink_realism), a sub-genre of British drama from the early 1960s onwards, which used domestic working class life and settings to explore controversial social and political issues.


End file.
